


Almost

by AndrewArmstrong



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Drinking, M/M, after centricide 4 i think, basically a monologue, implied past sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23922217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrewArmstrong/pseuds/AndrewArmstrong
Summary: After Ancom becomes Post-left, Commie doesn't know what to do except drink. He thinks about what was and what should have been.
Relationships: Authleft/Libleft, leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a little under an hour and reread it exactly once, feel free to offer any critique and to point out typos.

In many ways, Ancom was what had kept Commie going. It was unhealthy, he knew well, but it didn't stop the truth. Ancom was his kitten, his everything. 

Commie took a last swig at the vodka bottle in his hand, only to find out it was empty. _Shame._ He went back to the pantry to take another bottle. 

Commie wondered if the anarchists had depended on him as much as Commie did qim. He hoped so, but he wasn't sure the grey husk that had left him was even ancom at all. He didn't know if he was grieving a breakup or a death. 

Nazi told him time and time again that it didn't matter. That the relationship between them was degenerate at worst and a unfortunate effect of men stuck together for so long at best. Commie wanted to believe him. He wanted to think nothing of his lost friend. 

Commie cracked the bottle open.

But he couldn't think of Ancom like Nazi wanted him to. He couldn't think of Ancom as a mistake, as a fluke. Qi was like no one he had ever met before. Was qi someone he would never meet anyone like again?

He took a generous sip.

Maybe it was just how long the two had known each other. It was, of course, far longer than either had known the rightists. Commie reminisced over flower fields and revolutions. He knew Ancom never had.

He took another sip.

Commie remembered what it felt like to be touched the way the anarchist touched him. Soft and self-assured. He remembered silent moments stolen in the dead of night. Shallow breaths and scratches on his back and the way qi laughed when qi saw them in the morning.

He took yet another sip. 

Commie was starting to feel dizzy. That didn't happen often. Only then did he realize tears were falling down his face, that they had been for a while. это пиздец.

He shouldn't have gone alone. They shouldn't have split up in the first place. The four of them could have gone to each of the moderates together and still have killed three in just as much time. If they had been together, maybe they would have gotten the fourth. If they had been together, maybe they would have returned intact.

It was all wrapped up in maybes, wasn't it?

Commie slammed his hand on the table. It left a crack in the mahogany. He could hear stirring in another part of the house. He had forgotten Nazi was asleep. 

Let him wake up, the communist thought to himself, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the cause. All he had to do was defeat the centrists. Oh, he had to be somewhere in the morning, didn't he?

The house fell silent again and Commie took another sip. There was no sleeping to be done that night, he decided, how could he sleep after a day like this?

He needed something to hit. Something to hit him. Post left had walked away from him mere hours mere hours ago. Why did it feel like centuries? _fuck_

He wanted to run his fingers through the anarchists unruly hair. He wanted to kiss the freckles on qis neck. He wanted to hold qim tight against his chest and never let qim go. 

Commie wiped tears from his face and took another sip. Another empty bottle.

He could almost feel qim in his arms. Almost feel the warmth of qis skin and the chill of qis breath. Almost.


End file.
